


Dress Down

by RobotSquid



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dress Up, Fluff, M/M, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-30
Updated: 2011-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobotSquid/pseuds/RobotSquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're really sick of Sollux shirking his responsibilities when he's in the throes of a depressive phase.  Once again, you have to fix everything.  Starting with getting Sollux something clean to wear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Down

“Sollux.”

God he looks like a fucking mess in there. He’s so dead asleep it’s almost pathetic. You stare down at him, scowling like you can make him feel your irritation radiating from your face. He makes some sound that may or may not mean anything.

“Get the fuck up, you dumbass,” you try again.

“…myuh…” was the noise that came out of him. He tries to submerge himself in the sopor slime to hide from you.

“Get the _fuck_ up Sollux!” you shout, grabbing the edge of the recuperacoon and raising your voice as loud as it would go. “It’s been three fucking nights, this is getting wriggler levels of ridiculous, even for you, you fucking tragedy.”

A little bubble floats up and pops where his head went down under the slime. You start shaking the recuperacoon, wondering if you’re enough of a douchebag to tip the whole thing over with him in it and spill sopor slime all over his respiteblock.

Who the hell are you kidding, of course you are.

But it doesn’t quite come to that, because his twinned horns appear over the surface of the slime, and then his red-and-blue eyes are peeking out at you, and he’s got the worst fucking bags under his eyes. Sollux pretty much has that look permanently but this is like somebody drew a really bad caricature of him. He blinks at you, a sort of challenge, his way of saying, _I’m only coming out this far. What the fuck are you going to do it about it?_

“You do know,” you say, trying to sound indifferent, “that that coding you were commissioned to do is due by the end of the day, right?”

He makes bubbles in the sopor slime with his mouth, all the effort he’s willing to put into a response.

“ _Yes_ , you _do_ give a fuck, you dumb bulgesucker,” you growl at him, tapping your fingernails on the edge of the recuperacoon. “I thought you didn’t even have that much left to do. I don’t know why you’re sitting here _not doing it_.”

Sollux closes his eyes and sinks back down, a wordless, fluid motion.

“Come the fuck back out here!” you demand, shaking the recuperacoon again. “Captor, you fucking idiot, come out right this fucking second or I will flip this recuperacoon like it’s my shit.”

His head comes splashing up out of the green liquid, startling you, and then he actually fucking spits sopor slime in your face. It hits you right underneath the eye and you scream, wiping it away and furiously spouting incoherent profanity, and by the time you open your eyes again he’s sunk back down.

“Fine!!” you shout. “See if I fucking care if you lose your fucking commission you dumb fuck!! I hope the mods at that website tell everybody about what a colossal fuck-up you are at doing something that isn’t even a real _thing_! I hope your name gets fucking blacklisted, I hope everyone says, ‘Wow! What a douchebag this _Thollukth Captor_ is, it’s amazing how much we hate him.’”

You turn and you storm out of his respiteblock. No, you’re not waiting outside his door to see if he’ll get up and follow you. What a stupid thought.

Fuck, he’s really not getting up, is he? God Sollux is so unbearable. You feel like you age ten sweeps every time you so much as look at him. You throw open the door again, spouting out a strained “ _Fuck_ ” through gritted teeth, taking extra care to make sure the doorknob bangs hard against the adjacent wall.

“Okay _get up_ ,” you say in a tone with no invitation for debate. As if that would really get a reaction out of him. You take in a deep breath, then reach into the sticky, warm slime and lift Sollux completely out of his recuperacoon. You’re…a little surprised at how light he is. He sort of groans at you but doesn’t really object. You set him down on this really big beanbag chair he’s got, you actually are kind of jealous of it because it’s so fucking comfortable. He just sort of sits there, crosses his arms and lays his head back, closing his eyes.

You try not to start ranting at him like you’re his damn lusus…but shit, he didn’t even take his fucking clothes off when he got in. Now he’s sitting there with a completely slime-drenched outfit and looking like utter shit.

“I can’t believe I have to do everything for you because you’re such a fucking failure,” you tell him. “You’re disgusting, do you know that? This shit is all crusted on you and I don’t think it’s possible to take a long enough shower to get you all the way clean.”

He shrugs, yawns, and kind of licks his lips. You grab his arms and uncross them, then grab onto his shirt and yank it over his head as roughly as you can manage. He scowls at you when it’s off, but otherwise doesn’t protest. You ball up the shirt and start wiping off as much slime from him as you can get. The shirt’s pretty much already fucked up from slime saturation itself. It doesn’t do you or him much good.

You toss it to the side, quickly losing patience with it. You search the room briefly, then find some other discarded piece of clothing, another shirt, it looks like. It’s drier, and you start using that to wipe him off. Old slime is all in his fucking hair and on his face. You roughly scrub the shirt over his eyes and when you pull it away, he’s got them clenched shut tight with vague annoyance and it sort of reminds you of an aggravated kitten.

“This is the last fucking time I play lusus to you, Sollux,” you tell him, if just for a way to distract yourself. You’re not wiping him off with any real thoroughness. Just enough to get him somewhat dry. After his face, you scrub off his neck and shoulders, and then his arms, and as you grab his wrist to extend them you try to push down on his skin as harshly as you can. It doesn’t seem to faze him. After that, you have to scrub down his chest, and then…then his stomach, and…and, um…then you’ve got to go…a bit further….

Wait, why the hell are you getting all flustered? Just where in the fuck did _that_ come from, Vantas?

Your movement kind of slows down as you’re rubbing off his stomach because you don’t know why in the hell your mind went there of all places, and he sort of twitches and makes a little noise, a noise that shouldn’t come out of a troll….

You frown and stare up at him. “The fuck’s wrong with you?” you ask. You move the shirt-turned-washcloth onto the side of his torso, the squishy part between his hips and ribs where there’s _supposed_ to be some body fat but fucking dammit Sollux….

He twitches again, and makes that little squealing noise.

You scowl as hard as you possibly can because it’s the only way you can keep yourself from grinning like a motherfucking idiot. “Are you…ticklish?”

“No,” Sollux replies, the first time he’s said a damn word since you came in. You glare, and poke him right in that spot again, and he jumps like you just stabbed him.

“Will you fucking _thtop_ that?!” he demands. He tries so hard to avoid the lisp that he spits on you by accident.

“If you’d listened to me the first eighty fucking million times I’d asked you to get up you wouldn’t be in this situation,” you respond, tossing the shirt-rag aside and going towards his closet. You think you hear him hiss when your back is turned, which is a bit worrying, because Sollux usually isn’t a troll that gets aggressive enough to hiss. Well, fucker can deal.

You didn’t expect Sollux to have many clothes, because fashion is stupid, and you’re right, he doesn’t. But you weren’t exactly expecting to see so many things of his you didn’t recognize. He’s got more than one of that black T-shirt with his symbol on it, which you always knew, but there’s also some stuff you’ve never seen on him. You were expecting to just sort of open up the door and grab something, but then you find yourself actually looking at your choices.

There’s a few long-sleeved versions of his usual outfit— _boring_ —a couple of white T-shirts that look like they might be supposed to go with this button-up black collared shirt over here, and wow, you didn’t think he was nerd enough to actually own a sweater vest but yep, there it is, chilling right there on that hanger…and…no fucking way, he’s actually got a hoodie that’s got black and yellow stripes. As in _it looks like a fucking bee_. Oh man, how hilarious would it be if you tried to get that thing on him right now?

Once again, why with those weird-ass thoughts? Come on, you’re trying to get something fucking accomplished here.

“Okay here,” you say, grabbing the next thing you see because you don’t want him to realize you’re actually putting an outfit together for him in your mind. It’s another long-sleeved shirt, and the middle part is black and has got his yellow symbol up in the left hand corner. The right sleeve has red and black stripes, the left one has blue and black. You’ve never seen it before. You wonder why he doesn’t wear it, it couldn’t be a more Sollux-y shirt if it tried.

“Put up your hands, asshole,” you say, crouching down in front of him. He does so, and you yank the fresh shirt down over him. When his head appears through the hole, his hair’s gotten all static and electrified and he’s looking at you like he fucking hates you. More than usual. You realize that the shirt doesn’t exactly fit him. It’s too big. The sleeves reach to the middle of his hand and he’s already pushing them up. He looks like he hates this fucking shirt. He’s pouting like a wet cat and his hair looks fucking ridiculous, and is he kidding, he’s acting like wearing the damn thing is literally killing him.

You feel your think pan snap right in fucking half because you’re thinking a thought right now and you could never say it out loud, neither one of you would ever live it down, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking it but it needs to be thought _so hard_ ….

Sollux looks so. Fucking. Cute. Right now.

Fuck it, you can’t help it anymore. You let the smile loose.

“You better have a damn fucking good reason for making that face right now,” he says, and you can already see the red-and-blue psionics start to crackle in the air around his eyes.

“Just thinking of how stupid you look,” you reply. He stares back at you, and neither of you say anything for a second. “I’m gonna see what other dumbass things you have in here,” you say as a premise for turning around and going back to his wardrobe.

There’s a dresser in here too and you start sifting through the drawers as nosily and invasively as possible. Yeah, like you thought, most of what he’s got in here is jeans. There’s some other pants that are softer, like flannel or whatever the shit that material is called….

Oh man. _Oh man_ , no way. He’s got a pair of this flannel stuff that’s yellow and black striped just like that _stupid hoodie he’s got in the closet!_ You cannot pass this up. You’re already laughing your ass off in the inside.

“What the fuck is _with_ all this bee shit, Sollux?” you ask, suppressing the laugh in your voice as you turn around, holding up the pants. He groans to see them.

“This is what happens when you act like an immature douchebag,” you tell him, and you can’t wait to put this on him with the shirt and see how he reacts, and then as you’re standing them staring at him with the bee pants in your hand you realize exactly what you’ve gotten yourself stuck in….

Shit.

You’re going to have to take off Sollux’s pants.

He raises an eyebrow at you, just looking annoyed. You sort of feel your tongue dry out in your mouth and you already feel the blush rising and you stammer, cursing and tripping over yourself verbally like you’ve got a damn lisp too, and you manage to say, “W-well…well you’ve ruined those fucking jeans, dumbass! If you want to sit around in those squishy wet things all night then fine, be my guest of fucking honor.”

He doesn’t say anything and crosses his arms again. His expression doesn’t change. Fucker’s daring you to do it.

You grip the pants in your fist tighter. Fine. You _will_ do it. And it’s going to be _completely_ cool, nothing flushed or pale or ashen or caliginous _about it_.

You kneel down on the floor in front of him and grab onto the fabric of his jeans on either side of his thighs and pull as hard as you can. You half-expect them to just slide right off because of the slime and how they’re kind of big on him too. They move, but not that much. They’re not going anywhere, not even over his nonexistent hips.

“Will you get your fat ass up?” you snarl. “I can’t get them off if you’re sitting on them.”

Wordlessly, he shuffles down in the seat, slumping so his weight is shifted off the jeans. You tug some more. They’re still not going anywhere. Sollux is staring at the ceiling, apparently having lost interest in this. He knows you’re not going to really do it.

Thinks. Asshole just _thinks_ you’re not going to do it.

You stand up, putting your hands on the chair, on either side of Sollux, and stare down at his smug, apathetic face, mustering up as much frustration as you can fit on your face. _Think I won’t?_ you try to say with your expression. _Think I_ care _about doing something like this?_

Your hand shoots out, grabbing his zipper, and to your credit he actually looks startled. You grin at him, because you’re doing this, you’re making this happen, and he still thinks you’re full of shit. You are going to show him so hard.

You start to unzip, and it catches a little bit, so you grab onto the waistline of his pants with the other hand and yank it upward, smoothing it out, and you unzip as slowly as you can, taunting him with your complete fucking confidence. You actually hear him swallow nervously.

“You better not be fucking hard in there,” you say.

“Fuck you, KK,” he bites back. You look up and meet his eyes. Now you’ve got him. It’s always hard to tell with Sollux on account of the yellow blood but he is _so_ blushing right now.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you say, leaning in a bit as you slow down the unzipping even more. “Is this fucking weird for you?”

“No,” he responds a bit too fast, scowling. “Do I look like I give a shit?”

You let your fingers kind of…“slip” and your fingertips brush against what you’re pretty sure is his bulge. And holy _fuck_ the noise he made just now was…holy shit, you need a minute.

“Whoops,” you say flatly.

“Fuck you KK _thtop_ it just take them off if you’re going to take them off!!” he explodes at you, and you’re laughing your ass off because he is so beyond anything nonthreatening there’s just not a word for it.

“All right, god,” you say in between giggles. You unzip the rest of him and wrench the jeans off. Damn he’s got skinny legs. You still wonder how you weren’t able to get the pants off without unzipping them. Oh well. Time to mess with Sollux some more.

You slip his feet into the bee pants and bunch the legs up until his feet are through the bottom openings. You pull them up his legs, and when you get to the spot right under his bulge you stop and stare at him, and he bares his teeth angrily, psionics flaring, and you laugh, then you finish getting the pants on him.

You stand up, stand back, and observe your handiwork.

“You look absolutely fucking ridiculous,” you tell him.

“And you’re an absolute fucking athhole,” he muttered, still pouting.

You go to his desk and find his camera. Before he realizes what you’re doing, you turn it on and snap a picture of him in this incredibly silly outfit.

“KK what the fuck!?” he screams, actually getting up out of the chair and moving on his own for the first time.

You dodge him and head for the door. “Next time you want to fuck around and not do your damn commissions, let me know and I’ll give this to anybody on the internet that could possibly need coding work and see where it gets you.”

You slam the door shut, reveling in the sounds of his lisped cursing as you lean your body weight against it, keeping him shut in the room. You take out the memory card from the camera and put it in your specibus. You think maybe you should make it your husktop wallpaper when you get home.

Just so the blackmail is easier to access. Of course. What other reason would there be?


End file.
